


Postpartum

by Once_More_With_Feeling



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Breastfeeding, Hurt/Comfort, I can't help it I have sympathy for Lady Mary, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Insomnia, Late Night Conversations, Longish one-shot, Possible postpartum depression, Post-Series Pre-Movie, Support
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 07:30:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21334531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Once_More_With_Feeling/pseuds/Once_More_With_Feeling
Summary: Soon after the birth of baby Talbot, Thomas and Lady Mary run into each other in the nursery. An important conversation occurs.
Relationships: Thomas Barrow & Mary Crawley
Comments: 23
Kudos: 257





	Postpartum

**Author's Note:**

> I'm getting a little obsessed with Thomas and Lady Mary as of late. Their interactions in the film were so icy and brief, and I really loved the direction their relationship was going by the end of the series. I would have liked to have seen more kindness and protectiveness between them; also I find that I like writing instances when a servant master relationship becomes complicated by friendship.

**August, 1926 **

Sleep eludes him. Again.

Thomas sighs up at the ceiling, and looks at the ticking clock on his bedside table. Just after two. Damn.

He sits up, and rubs his eyes with his right hand. Insomnia possesses a particularly cruel irony, he thinks. It is not as though he is not sleeping because he is not tired. He is, in fact, knackered. He could do with about eight hours of uninterrupted sleep right now. But this clearly isn’t going to happen—not tonight.

So he gets up, puts on his house coat and house shoes, and makes his way quietly down to the gallery. If he’s not going to sleep, he might as well make sure everything in the house is as it should be. He entertains the brief thought that Mr. Carson would appreciate this, maybe even commend him for it. Thomas may be a relatively new—relatively young—butler, but he knows when he must take the opportunity to show how much he cares about this house, and this family.

By wandering outside their bedrooms in the wee hours of morning.

He has no destination in mind, so he simply meanders the loop of corridors past all the bedrooms. For the most part, he hears nothing. But when he nears the nursery, he picks up on a distinct sound.

Baby Talbot, just four days old now, crying in her crib. He stops where he stands; surely Nanny or the nurse will hear the child, and see to her in just a moment. But the crying continues. He takes a few more steps toward the nursery’s door, and when the crying still does not cease, he opens it. The sound grows louder, of course. He stands in the doorway, and considers calling out to Nanny. But maybe Nanny is just as tired as he is, and is actually fortunate enough to be getting some sleep tonight.

He steps into the room, and closes the door most of the way, allowing just a bit of light in from the corridor. He tiptoes silently over to the crib, and looks in. Lady Mary and Mr. Talbot’s daughter lies on her back, fists flying, screaming for all she’s worth.

_Heavens, this one’s going to be a force like her mother. _

Thomas reaches down into the crib, and pulls the little girl into his arms. Her wailing lessens a little, but does not stop.

“Hello, darling,” he whispers to her. “What’s the matter?” He nestles her tiny head in the curve of his elbow, and bounces up and down a bit. Finally her crying stops. She looks at the man who holds her, and they are both silent for a moment. Then he says, “That’s better,” his voice a little lower now.

The baby girl shares this room with Johnny Bates during the day, but sleeps here alone at night. Nanny, Sybbie, and George sleep in a different adjoining room (and no wonder). It seems to Thomas that the nurse ought to be nearer by, though. He wonders where she is now.

“That’s alright, though, isn’t it?” he coos to the baby, as he walks her toward the window seat. “We’ll be just fine,” he says, and sits down on the cushions. Just as he has finished arranging himself, and the baby in his arms, the door opens, to reveal Lady Mary standing in the threshold. Her hair is mussed, and her dressing gown seems untidy somehow. But there is no mistaking the figure standing across from him, in the light of the hallway.

Thomas tries to scramble to his feet, no easy task with a very lately soothed baby in his arms. Lady Mary holds up a hand to stop him, though.

“No, don’t!” she says firmly, but quietly. “You’ve just got her to stop crying. Please don’t move!” There is an urgency in Lady Mary’s voice that he has not heard in quite a while, so he stays where he is.

She approaches him, and looks down at her daughter before speaking again. “You have such a way with the little ones, Barrow,” she whispers.

He is not sure what to say to this. Should he agree with her? He settles on, “Thank you, milady,” his voice soft.

She sits down next to him then, which is somehow more awkward than when she stood over him. He makes to hand the child to her, but again she stops him with a shake of her head. “Don’t,” she says softly. “She’s happy with you.”

Their eyes meet, and Thomas is surprised to see that she is crying. He knows that sorrow is showing in his own eyes, too. He also knows that he shouldn’t touch her, but at the moment this is difficult to resist.

“Are you alright, milady?” he asks. “Can I help?”

She sniffs, and answers, “You are helping.”

When she offers nothing more, he looks down again at the baby, who has fallen asleep. “Surely she wants her mother, though,” he offers.

“I don’t know about that,” Lady Mary says. “Her mother isn’t much help, really.”

He looks up, again into her eyes, and risks impertinence by asking, “What do you mean?”

She frowns. “Nanny says I shouldn’t, but sometimes I think… I may want to nurse her myself. I didn’t with George. But I heard her crying, and came down here, and…”

“Oh,” Thomas says quietly. He is rather inexperienced in these matters, and is not sure what to say.

“Did you know Lady Edith nursed Marigold herself?”

_What? _

“I…” What can he possibly say that won’t cause this conversation to continue? It’s not as though he and most of the other servants don’t know. They’ve known for years. But they don’t _speak _about it, and certainly not with members of the family.

Finally latent horror crosses Lady Mary’s face. “Oh, God,” she says. “I shouldn’t have said that. I apologize.” She covers her eyes with her hands. “Forgive me, Barrow. It’s very late, and I—I forgot.” She uncovers her face and looks at him. “You’ll keep it to yourself?” she pleads.

He has thus far, hasn’t he? “Certainly, milady,” he murmurs, and looks back at the baby, who sleeps peacefully in his arms. It is past time for a change of subject, so he asks, his voice still soft, “What are you and Mr. Talbot going to call her, milady?”

She reaches out and strokes the baby’s soft little face. “Caroline,” she murmurs.

“That’s lovely,” he says, though he had half expected her to say the baby would be named Violet, for her great grandmother. “Is she called Caroline after a member of your family?”

She looks up at him, her eyes still watery. “It’s the feminine form of Charles. For Carson,” she says.

He smiles. “Does Mr. Carson know yet?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “Mr. Talbot and I just decided.”

“Well, I won’t spoil the surprise for him,” Thomas says. “He’ll be very pleased.”

“I hope so,” Mary whispers, then pulls her hand away from the baby, and looks down. She covers her eyes with her hands again, and her shoulders shake.

They still sit quite close—close enough for Thomas to put an arm around her, if such was called for. But he can’t bring himself to do it. He says instead, “Are you sure you’re alright, milady? You seem very upset.”

She nods, and wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. She leans toward him just a little, and answers, “Yes. Yes, I’ve been very upset.”

He swallows, and holds little Caroline just a bit closer. “I see,” he says. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Lady Mary lets out a heavy breath, and looks away, toward the door. She slouches next to him, defeated. “You know they say some women lose themselves in misery after giving birth. Not because anything terrible has happened, just at not having the child inside them anymore.”

He nods. She looks at him.

“But I don’t know what it is to have a baby and not be plunged into grief,” she says, and begins sobbing. She rests her elbows on her knees, and her face in her hands.

Thomas shifts the baby, holding her entirely in his right arm. He reaches out tentatively with his left, and touches her shoulder, first with just a fingertip, then four fingers, then most of his hand. She does not pull away.

“Of course you don’t,” he says softly.

“And I’ve been feeling so low these last days, especially at night. I don’t know if it’s that, or—or… I live in mortal fear every moment that Henry is going to die! I try not to let him out of my sight, but he doesn’t understand. I even gave birth here at home, so I wouldn’t have to go to hospital, and let him drive away from me—”

She stops, and continues crying. Though he is terrified of doing so, Thomas moves his hand from her shoulder, and reaches around her. He does not have to pull her close, though; she leans in and rests her head on his shoulder, and sobs, “Oh, Barrow…”

He licks his lips once, and says, “Shh… it’ll be alright, milady. It’s alright.”

Suddenly she sits up, though she does not move away. Her face is inches from his. “It must have been so awful for you, Barrow,” she cries. “Last year. To have thought that no one—that no one wanted you, that we were all better off—Oh!” she chokes on her tears, and leans into him again.

He rubs her back now, and knows he must say something. He tilts his face downward, so his lips nearly graze her forehead. “If you’re feeling that way, milady, you must tell someone,” he says, firmly, but not unkindly.

She sniffs, and does not look up. “Didn’t I just?” she asks.

He tightens his grip on her thin shoulders, and agrees with her. “Yes, milady. Yes, you did. But you should tell Mr. Talbot. Or Lord and Lady Grantham. They’ll want to help you.”

Now she looks up at him. She brings a shaking hand to his face, and touches his cheek with the tips of her cool fingers. So intimate a gesture is startling, but he does not allow himself to flinch. “It must have been so awful,” she says again, her voice rather rough. “I’m sorry.”

She clearly realizes then what she is doing, and brings her hand back to her lap. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, one more time.

“Not at all,” he whispers in return, finding that he means it. Then he tries to smile, and says, “It was terrible, milady.” He pauses. “But I was wrong. There were people who loved me then, and they love me now.” She smiles at this, and he can see relief playing on her face. “And you are no different,” he says.

Now she nearly laughs, though the sound she makes is still steeped in tears. It is funny, though, the idea that a great lady and her butler could be so alike.

She sits up properly now, so he lets go of her, and holds baby Caroline in both arms again. The baby sighs loudly in her sleep, and they both look down at her, and smile.

Without taking his gaze off of the baby, he says, “It may not be my place, milady, but I think you should try to explain how you’ve been feeling to Mr. Talbot. Tell him you need him.” She winces, but he continues. “Tell him that you need him to stay with you, and why. It seems to me that he would understand.”

“Maybe,” she murmurs.

He waits a moment, then says, again without looking up, “She really is beautiful.”

“I know,” Lady Mary breathes. Thomas moves to give the baby to her mother, and this time, she does not try to stop him. She takes her daughter in her arms, and settles herself in the cushions of the window seat.

Thomas stands, and turns to face her, order once again restored. He wonders for a moment if the spell will be broken later today, once the sun is up, and he, and she, and everyone in this house, go about their lives and duties as expected. He will likely feel safer if this is the case, but a part of him hopes it is not.

He clasps his hands behind his back, looks at the floor, and says softly, “I don’t pretend to know about these things, milady, but it seems to me that if you want to nurse your daughter yourself, all you have to do is tell Nanny that that is how it’s going to be.” He gives a little shrug, and a nearly playful raise of his eyebrows. “And she’ll just have to accept it.”

She gives him a nearly identical eyebrow raise, and almost smiles. “I’ll think on it,” she says.

He nods curtly. “Goodnight, milady,” he says, and turns toward the door.

“Thank you,” she says, as he is leaving. Then she adds, “Thomas.”

He stops for a moment, and turns to her, and smiles, before he leaves the room.


End file.
